


West Wing

by MadameGiry25



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: F/M, Horror, Romance, Suspense
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-13
Updated: 2013-08-13
Packaged: 2017-12-23 09:17:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/924612
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadameGiry25/pseuds/MadameGiry25
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bella indulges in a pot of tea in the hours since leaving Azkaban.</p>
            </blockquote>





	West Wing

Stoke the fire; make the blaze stand up bright and tall. Watch the flames hiss and snap, a thousand tiny snakes bonding together. Feel the heat pressing against the skin, faster, like a dance.

Put the kettle on, never mind the magic; there is no consummation in a magical cup of tea. Smell the satisfaction as the bubbles begin to form. Heat burns hand as it presses against the metal. Smile never fades. Hand remains oblivious. Bubbles flick and dance, their movements quick and boiling. Struggling to free themselves from the heat. Pour the steaming liquid into the pot, black as night and flecked with honeydew-scented remembrances.

The first proper cup of tea in so long. Stir in the leaves, smell the steeping infusion brew. Do away with the milk and sugar; tea as black as the heart that cups it. Inhale, let the drink drown out memories of Azkaban. Only days since the release… what is craved has been gained. Heart relaxes.

White knuckles, spattered with mud and filth. Trophies from a life lived in Azkaban. Bones protruding, skin stretched taught. Memories of a tainted parting…

Stare into his eyes, wonder what goes through his mind. Wonder if he has forgiven the past.

It is never too late to make things right. Know that he loves. Know that he hates. Love him all the more.

Happy… word slides over the mind. Tongue skims across the teacup, savoring the moment, making him wait.

" _Will you ever die, Bella?"_

Sip the tea, inhale again, feel his breath…

_He's a child in solitude. "You know, my lord."_

Watch as he pours another cup from the pot. Examine a cut on the hand that grips the cup, smell the blood mingle with the darkness of the brew.

" _I'm sure I will visit your grave."_

" _Are you, my lord? May I not have the privilege of visiting yours?"_

" _You know the answer, Bella."_

Reach a hand to touch his face. White, snake-like, beautiful…

" _I do not understand."_

" _I will not die, Bella. Ever."_

" _Ever…"_

Set the cup aside, smell his skin on yours. Rich, soft, breathtaking.

" _Oh, my lord…"_

Let his lips kiss, watch him pull away gracefully, take a sip of the blackness. See his flight, feel the smile on your eyes.

He's not changed. But she has.

" _Azkaban is a small price to pay for what we are…"_


End file.
